Engraved in Flesh, Written in Blood
by jaarli
Summary: Continues from where AOD left off. Kurtis disappears from the hospital, leaving not a trace. As Lara finds a lead that could help her finding him, Kurtis desperately tries to escape the cultists who captured him.
1. Beyond Your Reach

Disclaimer: None of the characters from the Tomb Raider games are mine.  
  
Please tell me what you think of this. I know it's short but I promise the next updates to be longer.  
  
1. Beyond Your Reach  
  
"No, he's not here Ms.Croft", the nurse stated blankly. Well, it wasn't her job to care about someone who had been brought here an enormous stabbing wound in their stomach. Neither it was her job to take care that a patient with a fatal wound wouldn't suddenly disappear from the hospital. It seemed that her job was only answering to the phone with her boring little voice.   
  
"How come he's not here? He's not fit enough to walk away on his own!" She was beginning to loose her patience as well as her faith in hospitals. The explanation was always the same: We don't have staff enough to have someone follow each patient every minute. Lara could imagine the sight - a puny little nurse explaining someone why their relative isn't in the hospital anymore.   
  
She took a few steps away from the reception desk. 'They must've walked out by themselves' Lara mimicked the nurses' voice when she was sure the nurse couldn't hear her anymore.  
  
It had happened like the person on phone had informed her this morning.  
  
        Flashback  
  
_"Saving all demands sacrifices" someone said when she picked up the receiver. "A one soul can lead everyone into salvation. Remember that also you were saved by the crucifiction of the Christ."  
  
"Who is this?" She asked on the coldest tone she could muster. There were all kinds of loonies on the loose. This case too would probably end locked up staring at the walls of the mental institution for the rest of his life.  
  
"Don't you believe in the Christ and resurrection? What if you would never see the Pearly Gates and the beauty beyond?"  
  
"When you've seen all I've seen the Pearly Gates wouldn't be that much of a wonder." She snapped.  
  
"But soon the time will come when his blood will be spilled once again to save our unworthy souls. You will never get there on time and he can't escape from his destiny."  
  
"Who can't escape his destiny?" As much as she wanted to deny it this phone call was giving her the creeps.  
  
"You know of whom I speak...Lara."_  
  
        End of Flashback  
  
And that was when the line had gone dead.  
  
All that was said on the phone had become true. Kurtis was gone and he definitely didn't walk out of this place. He had been taken. 


	2. The Hours After

The police had found nothing that would point to criminal activity. They seconded the statement of the hospital staff - either the patient had walked out himself or had been taken without a struggle. And of course - no one had seen a thing as if Kurtis had simply turned invisible and floated out of the window. And there had been no noises, no footprints, no struggle, nothing. But he couldn't fight back or run away with a hole of that kind in his stomach. He couldn't even stand up. He could barely talk and stay awake ten minutes at a time. There was no way he would've walked out of here, not by himself, at least.

Lara thought the room had been disgustingly clean. The bed on which he had lied only a few hours earlier now sported new sheets and pillow cases. It was clean, as clean as a hospital could be, looking like no one had ever inhabited it. Like Kurtis had simply been erased from its memory.

But she couldn't really blame the hospital staff about it. No one could demand them to have genuine interest and concern toward each and every of their patients. When one died or got sent home there was always another one to take the bed. No matter what you did there was always someone sick, someone in need of aid. And it was very possible that during the long years working as a nurse or a doctor drained out the part of your soul that cried out for every hurt human being. In the endless hurry you didn't have time to concider the possible souls of the mass of cells lying on the bed.

Lara found it strange that the profession one usually started from a want to help fellow humans ended up being about money.

She had sat in the waiting room of the hospital for hours hoping the officers would find a mark, a fingerprint that wouldn't belong in the room but there was nothing. Either no one had ever entered it or the person who had, had been really careful. In addition to fingerprints there should've been hair, dead skin, dandruff - something that didn't belong in a hospital.

But the room had been void of signs. There was no evidence to speak for kidnapping. He had just vanished.

Later in the evening Lara left the hospital and checked in a hotel nearby. It was nothing grand but she hadn't gotten used to living in a suite of a 5-starred hotel. As long as it had a lock on the door it qualified. She laid her backpack on a chair and sat on the light yellow comforter only one thought running through her head: How could she feel this empty? Was it Kurtis' disappearance or the fact that no one had noticed that affected her like this? The fact he had been alone when it happend wasn't the way it was supposed to go.

She couldn't tell why she cared - she had only known him for less than a week. She had sacrificed the Obscura painting for him, to make sure he'd live for a few moments more. She had practically handed Karel the opportunity to revive the race of Nephilim. She hadn't even given it a second thought. As soon as she saw him being captured she acted, like out of a reflex.

Kurtis would've probably been a person who had stayed in her life for a short while and then disappeared. Just another passer-by. And Lara had thought she had grown hard enough of a shell to shield herself from caring about people who meant nothing to her. But had she? Had she really? Perhaps it had always been there and took this one event to show.

What made him so much different from the countless of others she had met on her journeys?

As she thought she lay down on the bed not noticing the lumps in the mattress and somehow she knew insomnia would get a totally different meaning during the coming night. 


	3. Pallid Light

At the very moment his eyelids parted Kurtis knew he would regret waking up. Even though his vision was blurry he could tell he wasn't there where he fell asleep at. The room he was in wasn't familiar in any way. The almost quiet of the hospital had turned into dead silence. The sterile, white tiles on the walls had changed into rough, grayish rock. There was little light to speak of - only a few torches shared their pallid light with him. He felt the hospital matress under him no more and the pale green quilt that used cover him had vanished. There was something tight around his wrists that prevented him from moving them. And no matter how he hard he tried there was no chance for him to sit up - something was stopping him. This time it wasn't even the terrible pain radiating from his stomach wound caused by the bitch, Boaz. Even though he didn't move he knew he wasn't lying on the hospital bed either.

With great discomfort he managed to turn his head but couldn't see any figures in the dim of the room. He was truly alone. Left on the table, or whatever he lay on. No matter how he tried to pull his hands free he couldn't. As his foggy mind began to clear he came to realize he had been strapped to the table. The material of his bindings seemed like leather, dark and thick in the dim lighting. Tight enough to make sure he wouldn't escape.

_What have you gotten yourself in this time, Trent?_

The silence was getting on his nerves. And he had been used to silence on his journeys, traveling through the nights and avoiding his enemies. Silence was a part of what he did - rather than having a world filled with noise he chose the silence. But there was something in this silence tht disturbed him tremendously. It wasn't relieving like he had always thought silence to be. The very essence of the silence surrounding him was tormenting like the air itself had whispered in his ear about a nearing doom. Something that lay only days or hours away.

Every second that passed him by in his silent prison increased his agony. The pain that was not physical kept on embracing him, tighter and tighter. And the butterflies in his stomach had turned into mosquitoes for quite a while ago.

When he least expected it, silent humming broke the silence. The tune was melancholy - every note carried intense sadness as they floated through the air to meet his ears. He knew they would've broken down from a single touch had they been made of something solid. As fragile as they might be they still tore into him, increasing the fear already attempting to boil over. The tones of the humming choir gave a total new meaning to dolour. The depressing tunes reached a new level of intensity as new voices emerged from the depths of the caverns.

Dim light filled the corridor as the humming grew closer. One after another figures robed in crimson cloaks emerged from the doorway. Every figure but the first one held a torch in tight grip but the flames themselves seemed to be dying as if they, too, sensed the dreadful silence floating around. Slow steps carried their seemingly weightless bodies across the room as they positioned themselves around the table Kurtis lay on.

_Damn, seems like shit to me..._

As the humming died the figures stood in the shared silence, their heads bowed. Kurtis couldn't see their faces as their hoods offered them a refuge, an anonymity. As the silence continued the fear inside him grew. And he knew nothing good could come out of a situation like this. He thought being hooded, not showing their own face, was a way of the cowards. The way of someone who couldn't watch something they did or didn't want to know about it. Like that way it would never come back and haunt them. That they would never have to see the faces of their victims, or the eyes, again. And he knew how eyes could come back to haunt one's soul. He knew the pleading look when a people were begging for their lives knowing that no one would answer their prayers. Knowing that the blade or the bullet would soon tear through them. But he also knew how one stopped caring after too many pairs of pleading eyes.

Perhaps they were past caring.

Not being able to handle the silence anymore Kurtis again tried to release himself from his bindings, only finding the sheer attempt futile. The person who had tied him to whatever he lay on knew their job well.

Whatever he did seemed to have no effect on the cloaked figures. They stood still as if they were waiting for a signal to act and to Kurtis it seemed they had a shared consciousness, that they all were creatures of the same mind. Mental slaves of someone or something that had not yet made an appearance. Something they all followed blindly not questioning its orders and not seeing anything wrong in them.

"What do you want of me?" Kurtis tried to mask the fear in his voice with anger but found it infeasible. It was like trying to hide your head in a bush wishing no one'd see you that way. And he knew they knew even though they did nothing to answer him. Silence was almost worse than a spoken reply. At least a reply would give a hint, you could try and understand the other's feelings through the tones but if one remained silent when question like that was spoken it didn't promise much good. 


	4. Insomnia

After four hours of tossing and turning Lara finally decided to get up and abandon the idea of being able to sleep during the night. No matter how much she tried to tell herself there wasn't anything she could do to help Kurtis the thoughts of him being captured didn't leave her alone. And a idea she could't quite define lingered in her mind keeping her in its tight grasp. Was there something she had overlooked at the hospital? Something so common that she paid no attention to it?

She wandered to the bathroom of her small hotel room letting her tired eyes rest for a moment on the porcelain. The walls were glimmering slightly, offering he no help or absolution. The phone call all those nights ago linked her to what had happened to Kurtis. It linked her to what was happening to her at the very moment.

Why had the called her that they were going to take him? Was it meant to be torturing, not letting her know the whole story? Or was the entire idea to make sure she learned the truth in whatever end the line of events might have? No matter how she'd find out or how bitter it might be in the end.

Clsing her eyes she let out a frustrated sigh, letting her already downed spirits sink a bit more. Her own mirror image, unflattering at the moment, greeted her once her eyelids parted again. The always soulful and intense eyes of her now lacked their usual power. She couldn't stop doubts running through her mind - had she, the ever vigilant Lara Croft, met something she wasn't able to overcome. Was it the phonecall that was doing this to her? Causing her this guilt? Her spirit was telling her to shatter the mirror from which her image was mocking her wordlessly, making faces at her feeling triumphant. Instead she turned around and, not wanting to face herself again, srode back into her bedroom.

She hadn't believed what the caller had said. In fact, she had thought it to be yet another person testing her, trying to figure out the limits of her belief. Not in the person in the other end of the phoneline, not in the words they exchanged but in mythologies and folklore. Was it all true to her? Would she believe it if someone made up a story? But she had taught herself well when it came to history and mythologies. Anyone in her profession would've.

And the it dawned to her - whoever it had been they had called her on the room phone, not her own one. They had gone through the trouble of finding her in Prague, finding her in the small hotel she had crept in silently after helping Kurtis to the hospital. No one in United Kingdom, not even Winston, had been granted the knowledge of her whereabouts. She hadn't called anyone, hadn't even mailed anyone. She hadn't even told the hospital staff where she was staying.

And that someone, who called her, must've been in Prague. Must've followed her back to the hotel or paid someone to do it for them. That someone had planned it the whole way through, known who she and Kurtis were and for some reason wanted to tip her off. Or was it just to see what she would do? How she would act? Was it a test if she had any conscience left?

Was it even about her?

The voice on the line had talked about blood being spilled to save our unworthy souls and about Pearly Gates. Lara shook her head sadly as she again made the connection - being who she was made her also familiar with the Bible and everything it contained. She had never actually read the book but somethings in it were thought to be common knowledge. Did the caller actually believe that Kurtis was reincarnation of someone who supposedly lived two milleniums ago?

Having seen all she had seen she couldn't rule out this option but couldn't find herself accepting it either. But then again, who was she to say what Kurtis was and wasn't.

Acknowlidging the fact that she coul've been able to stop this from happening she closed her eyes yet again. Gone were the times when a simple bandaid worked and now, more than ever, she wished it to be so. But there were no means of curing guilt and live. It was different to physical pain that one could get treatment for. You couldn't tie a bandage around a feeling which ate your soul inside out. All you could do was to wish it to be gone one day. Wish that that day would be soon - that you would wake up having your bad memories erased like they never existed.

But she knew better than that. She knew she'd have to carry it on her for the rest of her life and there was no telling in how many decades that meant. Could it be possible just to stop caring? Just to pass the event on as one of the dark sides of the sun? Could she ever accept the guilt?

It had to be about the phonecall.

Who could've wanted her to know and would there be more clues? No one could turn invisible - not even the things she had seen on her travels. Not even the supernatural events and entities she had proved to exist.

There had to be something on the cameras. 


	5. Stravsky, Pen and Paper

Disclaimer: I own no characters from any of the Tomb Raider games or movies.

Notice: All the people in this fiction speak English because I can't speak any other language than that apart from Finnish.

Stravsky, Pen and Paper

SIlently she followed the police officer who had just called out her name. He walked slowly, in a lazy manner, and dragged his every step as if his feet weighed too much. He was slightly taller than her, sporting a tanned complexion and light brown hair. From his grim expression Lara could make out he wasn't entirely enjoying the situation, or his work, or both. He stopped by a light wooden door in the end of the corridor and slowly stepped into the room.

She was used to places like this - interrogation rooms. A lone tape recorder stood on the table and the walls were naked of decoration. The gray rock chilled her to the bones, forcing goosebumps on her skin. There was a single lamp in the room forcing the whole space bathe in its tired yellow light. Behind the 'interrigator's' chair was a mirror wall and she knew all too well what it was for. She sat down only to notice that the chairs hadn't been made to be comfortable, only practical, and they served their purpose rather well. There was no carpet whatsoever - this was not intended to be an enjoyable room.

"So, Miss Croft." He started after checking her name on the papers laid messily around the desk. "I take it you wanted to discuss about Mr. Trent's case."

She knew what she was about to ask was uncommon by all standards - the police couldn't be forced to let her see their evidence on the case. It was their desperation, and her own as well, she had decided to try and use as her weapon. They needed some proof there had been a crime in the crime scene and not just a sleepwalker.

"I need to see the security tapes from the hospital." Directly to the point, that was her way. No beating around the bush, no circling the subject - there was no point. These people weren't here to be sweet-talked to.

Something glimmered in the officer's beady eyes for a split of a second but disappeared before she could even start to define what it might've been. He grabbed a pen fro the table as well as a notepad and started, as if frightened by hr directness, fiddle with the pen.

"There's nothing to see in them - just plain ordinary hospital life. Not even a hint of a crime whatsoever."

They were back in the same spot again - she could've started rambling about people not being able to vaporize and they would claim they had no proof od him being taken by force. But what if there had been something, anything, that the policemen had thought too dangerous or revolting for her to see? Something they thought she needed protection from? She had been closer to death, closer to hell than any of these men and women would ever be. She had even seen a glimpse of heaven in a being that had fallen from light - and she had seen the end of that creature. She had seen pain and felt loss greater than the people in the room could expect to experience. And they thought she needed protection from whatever that was behind Kurtis' disappearance. That she was still that nosy young girl with pigtails sneaking on the boat to the Black Island. And even then she had made it, even saved father Patrick from the mess that was, partially, her own creation.

"Please, sir", it wasn't like Lara to ask this politely. This far she had gotten everything she needed with her hard-as-steel will and determination, both very vital in her 'occupation'. "Just let me take a look."

"To what point and purpose, Miss Croft?" Officer Stravsky, as his nametag informed her, questioned her from across the table, his small eyes glinting like a demon's. "There's nothing on those tapes but normality."

She leaned closer to the officer, forcing her stare on the unattractive sight. The officer's hair, if properly taken care of, would've been a real eyecatcher but in its present state it simply framed his stubbled face limply. His breath, as well as his eyes, carried a sign of a party last evening. Lara sighed inwardly - people paid taxes to fund the police and this is what they got - drunken bastards?

"Perhaps there is something you haven't noticed then. Something so normal it doesn't stand out but is out of context anyway." Noticing how close she was to the police officer, she sat back on her chair and stared at the man not minding of showing her annoyance over the situation.

Officer Stravsky treated his pen like a ballerina and let it dance delicately on his notepad. It wasn't like he was writing something - his fingers, Lara thought, were probably not made to stay still for a single moment.

"Look, Miss Croft" The officer started, seemingly tired of the topic. "I do not know why you are hitting yourself because of this case and quite frankly, I don't care about your personal agenda whatever it is." His words only received an angry glare from the woman sitting across the table. "There is nothing we can do if there are no leads. My boys have watched through each and every minute of those tapes and have not been able to gather any information about a crime whatsoever. So, as far as we're concerned, he might've walked out even though he wasn't supposed to be able to."

"So that's it?" Lara snapped, her tone as fiery as her spirit. "Are you closing the case even though you can't prove him walking out of the hospital? And even if he did, shouldn't it be shown on one of the tapes? Furthermore - what reason would he have to go into hiding. He wasn't accused of anything, not even being my partner in crime and my charges were dropped."

They sat in silence as time lingered by, the ticking of the clock being the only noise in the small room. Not even Stravsky's pen moved anymore - it laid vacant on the table as if weary of excercise. Stravsky had even lain down his notepad and after a single glance Lara had come to the conclusion that the man was in a desperate need of writing lessons. His handwriting, as well as the messy state he was in, didn't manage to give her a high opinion of the police force.

The officer sighed and leaned forward in a tired manner. His eyes blinked at her as if fatiqued and the heavy lids seemed to want to rest - in fact everything in him told her he was tired of their conversation. "What is it that makes you so interested in this case, Miss Croft?" There was a challenge in his voice and she frowned as she recognized it. Was he really testing if she had enough guts to tell the truth or would she take the easy way out and lie?

She had never been a chicken and turned down a challenge.

"Didn't you, just a moment ago, make a wise remark about not being interested in my personal agenda?" She knew she had hit a tender spot when the officer was momentarily taken aback. His beady eyes glinted again and for a moment she thought she had seen a glimpse of hatred in them. She grinned inwardly - no one, at least men - liked it when you outsmarted them or managed to pull the carpet from under their feet.

It took a moment for him to regain his composure. "Miss Croft, I assure you that I have no personal interest in your agenda."

"Ah," She voiced, pleased with herself, and waited for the officer to continue on the path that was leading to his damnation.

"This is strictly professional interest - in other words, comes with my job. And having someone so interested in a case that doesn't involve their relatives or -" He kept a small pause, letting a small smile, that Lara found utterly disgusting, take over his face. "- loved ones -" He kept another pause "- can be seen as an interesting fact."

She had to admit it was hard to keep a straight face after the comment which she hadn't seen coming. Hoping her hesitance wouldn't show she forced a cunning smile on her lips.

"And doesn't the fact that I'm the reason he's still alive count? Or do you claim seeing enough of human nature to deny the possibility of this option?"

He broke the eye contact and went back to fiddling with his pen and notepad, nodding every now and then as if agreeing to an unaudible conversation. Lara eyed him curiously from the corner of her eye. She still hadn't been able to rid the feeling his words had brought her a moment ago. Why would she care? She had saved people's lives before but hadn't turned up in the hospital and sat by their beds. She forced teh sudden thoughts out of her mind and turned her attention to officer Stravsky again. Leaning over the table she turned off the tape recorder and sat back down.

"I had a phone call" She then added, her voice a mere whisper but just audible enough for him to hear. At first he didn't react at all but after a long minute his pen stopped moving on the notepad and he forced himsef back from whatever he was doing. His eyes had lost their slightly demonic glint, now only gazing at her with a stunned expression - he hadn't been expecting that.

"A phone call? From whom?" There was genuine interest in the tone for once as if the officer had suddenly regained his will to live.

"I do not know." She shook her head. "The person never told their name or a single bit of personal information. It was all about a sacrifice to repay our sins." As the officer stared at her she continued. "In the biblical sense."

"And nowhere between today and the day of Mr. Trent's disappearance did you think this might be a vital bit of information." Accusation - that was what she heard in his voice now and his eyes had regained their former malice.

"One too many calls like that one has forced me not to take each one seriously. If someone called you and told about the Pearly Gates and salvation I'm sure you would be whooping for joy. I, myself, can be a bit more picky of what and whom I believe in."

The officer sighed and picked up his pen once more. He knew she was right - everyone who had a listed number had probably been a victim of said prank phone calls caused by the malevolence lurking deep inside the human heart. He had had too many cases of old people complaining about such phone calls, mostly after they had gone to sleep, and, frnakly. He had been annoyed to no end by their endless complaints and had decided he'd throw the next person who complained about phone calls out of his room. But he couldn't, not now.

"Alright" He sighed, not looking at Lara. "I'll give you a go with the tapes but don't say I didn't warn you - there's nothing that stands out in them." 


	6. Little Gray People

A weary sigh escaped her lips as she watched another anonymous nurse walking by on the film. Had Stravsky been right all along? Was there truly nothing on the security tapes? She had been watching for hours and hours as the nurses rushed by, doctors barked out orders and medical staff worked in the reception. How she wished there'd been some noise but the tapes couldn't provide her any and the room she was sitting in didn't help the matter.

The room was somewhat similar to the one she was questioned in - the walls weren't painted and sported the dull gray of concrete. A single lamp without a shade dangled from the ceiling. Unlike the other room this one had no mirror. The only piece of furniture, in addition to the table and the chairs, was the vcr and the tv. Both of them colored neutral brown they added no kind of a soul to the decor of the room. The overall image one received once entering the said room reeked of coldness and failed to make one at least a bit comfortable. She had sat in the disturbing silence ever since officer Stravsky had lead her into the room. The mug of tea on the tabl had long since lost its warmth but Lara hadn't noticed this - she hadn't even touched the drink.

She stared at the screen tiredly as yet another nurse wiped some markings from the board about patients. Lara knew what it meant - someone had either died or been sent home. And the life in the hospital continued normally after the distressed relatives had been seen to. She couldn't stop herself from wondering how many lives did it take to become indifferent about death? How many litres of crimson on one's hands did they need to simply be able to think of the deceased as another time of death?

For her it had taken a lot. But it had become easier as the years rushed by, as bullets flew and as the difference between the 'bad guys' and snakes slowly disappeared. As they all became enemies that kept her from the artifacts, from her goals.

But she had never expected anything different - most of the deaths in her hands had served a purpose. They had been in her way in saving the world, in managing to live another day. Managing to come out on top.

Where could you draw the line?

The doctors and nurses on the tape fought to keep breath in beings that might not deserve it. Victims of the gangwars, shot in the chest and fighting for their last breaths, drug addicts dying of overdoses and people who, in all simplicity, had decided life was not worth the trouble - would any of them be grateful for being saved? Would they just walk out and give it anoter go? Sometimes she wondered why she fought for them all. Why she went through all the trouble to save something that didn't want to be saved? Why would she risk it all for someone who slit their wrists because they never had a pony?

What point did the hospital staff see in rescuing them, people who had never been grateful for anything, those who had always taken the highest bid and bowed to money all their days? And then there was she, herself, who took the lives of such souls. Whoever gave her the permission to pull the trigger? What was she to judge who had enough skeletons in their closets to earn the meeting with their maker?

She glanced at the simple black-and-white clock on the wall and sighed as the hands slowly crept onward to meet the looming dawn. Lara grabbed the remote control and fast-forwarded the tape, smiling slightly at the sped-up antics of the medical stadd. If the situation hadn't been so grim she would've found herself even enjoying about the tapes a little bit. The grayish figures twitched on the screen, their gestures inhuman and spasmodic.

And as a flash of light it hit her. Fumbling with the remote control she managed to press stop. There, on the hospital board, she could clearly see the information that wasn't supposed to be there anymore. The nurse had wiped it away earlier - Lara was certain about that. She hit rewind and stopped, again, once the markings had left the board. Pressing play she stared at the TV as if it would've lied if she hadn't. The figures in the TV moved normally once more, the rush and constant hurry of the hospital clearly visible. The nurse, working in the reception, wiped the board and wrote info about the new patients on it. And then there it was - a twitch, ever so slight, and the missing writing appeared on the board as if the spirits of the dead themselves had intervened.

Pausing the tape Lara jumped up from her seat and rushed to the door. Throwing it open she glanced around the almost abandoned corridor and her eyes fell on the sleeping form of a guard next to the door. Had he been there all along? Had someone placed him to keep an eye on her so she wouldn't destroy the evidence? Pushing such ideas out of her head she shook the guard rather hard, almost making him fall off the chair.

"You. Get Stravsky, now!" The guard blinked at her for a time or two but after taking in the seriousness in her tone and expression thought it to be better to ask questions later. He stood up, nodded and headed down the corridor.

Lara slid down the wall silently, only one thought running through her head - the security tape was on loop. 


	7. Hear Me Out

He knew the silence looming about him was far more threatening than any noise he could think of. Be it the clattering of one's teeth or the desperate call for someone in the dark, it couldn't beat the dread that was growing in his heart. The world had suddenly become void of sounds. He could almost hear the threat in the silence.

The small dancing flames around the room were still pushing the shadows away with their light but Kurtis knew that they, too, would die out soon. And then there'd be only darkness.

He still lied on his back, no one had even tried to touch his bound body. The cloaked figures, after humming quietly some melancholic melody, had long since sailed out of the room the very way they had entered it. From his position Kurtis couldn't be sure whether they had walked or slid on the ground. And then everything had been deadly silent and still, the candles slowly burning out their lifeforce acting as the sole remainder of time still existing in the room.

He struggled against his binds for there was no one around to stop him but stopped as he understood how stupid it was. These people, whoever they were, knew how to strap someone down.

These were no football fanatics who threw drinks at each other and fought by almost fair means, by fists.

These took their pleasure in their victims' helplesness, tying them down to stop them from even dreaming about escaping. To have their wicked way with the person they managed to catch and strap down. But there were some things not written on the horpital charts - some things they couldn't possibly know about him.

He closed his eyes slowly as if fearing of failure and concentrated on the straps that tied him to the table. At first he felt the leather tightening around his right wrist. He grimaced as the material bit into his skin, moving slowly forward and the back again, tugging a bit in between. He bit his teeth together, concentrating on the buckle that seemed hesitant to open. Tightening the strap once more, enough for the skin to rip, he managed ot release the buckle and free his hand.

Turning on his left side he gave similar treatment to his left hand and sighed in relief as he heard the faint click. He clenched his fists a time or two to regain the circulation in his stiff fingers.

Taking one breath he sat up, way too quickly. A sharp pain in his abdomen reminded him of his wound and forced him to lie down again. The whole of his abdomen throbbed and he closed his eyes to wish the pain away while small droplets of sweat traveled down his temples. Reaching to his stomach with his left arm he sought for the source of the pain, only to find the bandage removed. The stitches were rough to touch, reminding him of a stubble, and the skin felt too tight as if it was too streched. Cursing unaudibly, he took more time to sit up on the second attempt. Even though the pain was still almost unbearable he managed to battle through it and, after a few excruciating moments, make it to a seating position.

The skin on his abdomen protested against every movement, remembering too well the trauma it had suffered not so long. The wound looked messy as if the hospital staff hadn't known what they were doing and only sew him together to the best of their ability. The stretching of the skin could be seen clearly seen, how the stitches fought to keep the wound shut in order for it to heal.

Untying his leags Kurtis was, at last, entirely free. Slowly he lowered himself to the ground, off the table, only to find his legs too weak to hold him upright. His impact witht he floor was far from pleasant, sending jolts of pain through his body. He could almost hear his stitches ripping apart as the skin once more tightened, trying to tear itself free.

He couldn't stop the shiver running through his body as the cold stone floor hugged his bare torso, the stitches painfully aware of this fact. Taking a deep breath, to embrace himself against the pain, he slowly turned to his back, enjoying the coolness of the floor agianst his skin.

His legs didn't work like they were supposed to. That left crawling as his only option, no matter how humiliating it was. Checking that he wasn't bleeding badly enough to leave a trail to follow, he battled himself onto his tomach once more and pushed himself forward.

Knowing that using his farsee ability out in the open could possibly turn fatal, he set finding a place to hide in as his priority. Of course he could try and crawl out of the place trusting his sense of direction or luck, but he didn't want to count on it.

Glancing up from his perspective, the room looked even darker, the candles drawing their last breaths and their light slowly succumbing to the power of the darkness. The small flames fluttered slightly in the draft and in the growing darkness Kurtis could've sworn he saw small holes in the rocky ceiling. Was he in a cave just below the ground? He shook his head slightly, regretting the movement instantly as a wave of agony struck him and pushed the small holes out of his mind. They would be of no use for him now - he couldn't reach them or fit himself through them. The only way they could be helpful was his farsee ability, but he had to hide before any of that could happen.

For a moment he wished he could've received an ability to see in the dark instead of everything that was given to him in his genes. But he had learned it the hard way that you couldn't escape what you were. No matter where you went you were always with yourself.

Biting his teeth tightly together, he reached out with one hand while the other was hugging his midsection to keep the pain and further damage caused to the wound do minimum. Not minding his bangs moist with sweat gluing themselves on his forehead he kept on crawling. He knew that in scenarios of this sort second chances were given rarely, hardly never. Every slow drag increased the stress his body was under but he knew there would be no stress if he was to give up. There would be Lux Veritatis no more, no one to carry on their legacy. But he cared not about that, or at least less than he had believed he would. It was the thought of never seeing her again that pained him. Never hearing her wise ass voice or fancy British accent again. And never knowing if he was something more than a 'partner in crime'. Lara...

His train of thought was cut short as his body was attacked with yet another jolt of pain. He had to do everything in his power not to scream out loud or utter every single curse he knew. He wasn't going far on this rate.

One glance around was enough to tell him he was in a tunnel system of a sort. Sighing he looked around again - not one of the tunnels looked more promising than any other. All of them were illuminated with candles, thus providing the area with an eerie lighting. Every now and then a tunnel forked into two or three, some coming to dead end and some forking again.

_Fuck._ He hung his head in defeat, giving one last glance at the maze in front of him. _This is hopeless._

Somehow he knew that whatever tunnel he chose it would be his last if he tried to get out on his own. Turning to his side he checked his fingers and the wound - there was some minor bleeding. The stitches seemed to be intact, but some skin had taken the liberty to get torn.

_And doesn't this just improve my chances? Fucking great!_

Protecting the wound as well as he could he crawled forward, determined to find a place to hide - at least for the duration to contact someone, anyone.

"So the charasteristics and appearance match? Are you certain this is he?"

The voice was only a whisper but managed to stop Kurtis dead on his tracks. He edged closer to the wall to be out of the immediate sight if someone happened to choose the tunnel he was in. Making himself as invisible as he could and focused on the ongoing conversation.

"According to the prophecy, Oh Divinity. Everything matches."

"I am not asking if it matches, there most possibly are dozens and dozens of people who can fill the description. Are you certain?"

"I would give my life for it, Divinity, and everyone's who's related to me. This is as sure I am."

"Good." Kurtis could hear the malice in the voice even though he wasn't in the room where said conversation took place. "And if you are wrong I will personally make you regret it." He could imagine the evil laughter after the comment, and the lump forming in the other man's throat.

Backing away as quickly as possible, Kurtis took the first possible tunnel leading away from both the room where he was kept in and the one where the discussion was held only finding himself in a small bed chamber a moment or two afterward. The small room was illuminated in similar manner than any of the other rooms and corridors.

There wasn't any decent hiding place in sight - in addition to the bed the room only had a writing table and a cabinet in it. The walls were the original color of the rock and weren't decorated in any manner. He could've written a mental comment about an evil cult on top of the image but decided against it. After all, he didn't need all that much time, just enoguh for his message to be heard. Quickly, counting his option, he took the best one and crawled under the bed. Perhaps they wouldn't look for him there, at least not at first.

Lying on his left side he closed his eyes and took a few breaths to steady himself, to fight back the pain, to be able to perform as good as possible. He slowly placed his palms in front of him, ignoring the faint glint of crimson on the other one and closed his eyes only to open them shortly afterward.

Who could he really contact? The order of Lux Veritatis had died years ago, he was just seeking for revenge, not fighting for the same cause as them. But even still he had ended up being a part of saving the world even though he couldn't, in the end, revenge his father. He let out a small, bitter laugh. Wasn't that what they said? That you became what you hated? Konstantin had never been good with promises, or at least better in breaking than keeping them. And at times it had been hard for Kurtis to keep a straight face, knowing father wouldn't be home on his birthday. After all the times he'd claimed he would never become like his father he had to notice he was exactly like him.

But my promise was kept in the end...not by me, though.

Lux Veritatis wouldn't answer and Kurtis knew it. He could, of course, try and get his message through to the first living person he'd see but that idea had its defects as well. Most of the people out there would regard him as something similar to ghosts or other paranormalities. And the rest probaby belonged to the cult anyway or would have regarded him as nothing.

In the end he knew he had only one option as he closed his eyes again.

_Hear me out, Lara...please._


	8. Deadends

"A loop? Could you specify that a bit, Ms.Croft?" Stravsky glanced at her from under his thick eyebrows and, for a moment, she thought she could see a hint of amusement in his beady eyes.

She still couldn't believe it – after years of Tomb Raiding, avoiding spiky traps and lethal walls, she faced the one obstacle that couldn't be defeated, not even with her intelligence and skill – male egoism. She was only a few seconds from exploding. If he didn't stop soon he'd be collecting his face from the corridor and no cosmetic surgery would restore him to his former self. She had met many men during her journeys and each and every of them had fallen before her guns.

Not that it would be a bad thing, of course.

"You can either watch the tapes again yourself or trust in my word of there being a loop. And..." She breathed in hard "...with a loop I mean that someone has cut pie..."

"Yes, yes, I know what a bloody loop is." Stravsky snapped at her but only managed to make Lara's lips form a victorious grin.

There were some benefits in being a woman, after all. When you knew how you could make the opposite sex to eat out of your hand and enjoy it. The case would've been completely different had she been a man. Stravsky might've even kicked her out from his office as she requested a permission to watch the tapes.

"But first you must humour me..." The police officer started.

The tomb raider couldn't believe her ears. Was this man for real? There was a case at hand, a missing person to be found, and still he wished for something which would either turn out to be ridiculous or perverted. Frankly, she couldn't point out which possibility was worse.

"...You never told me your personal agenda." The malice faded from his eyes, letting them soften and seem almost humane.

"I thought I told about the call. Or is it just because you suffer from the lack of social life that you must enquire into others'?"

But why did she care? What was there to care about a man who had always seemed to be a step ahead of her? Who had, instead of working together at first, pursued his own personal vendetta? He had even locked her up so she couldn't 'damage things' as he had put it.

But hadn't he done the last to keep her safe? Hadn't he, in his own way, tried to protect her? And in the end, instead of putting his revenge first, he had helped her up from the pit of Boaz. Having thought it to a better option, he had momentarily let go of his hatred and let her deal with hers.

Was that all it was about? Of obligation? Was it just a debt of gratitude?

Or guilt?

Or the simple fact that he was the first man in a long time who could spark her interest, who could, at times, outsmart her. The something that made him put her revenge before his own, that something she couldn't quite put her finger on.

If she was to name it she'd call it nobility.

"Ah, shouldn't everyone even slightly familiar with police work know that the officers are married to their jobs?" Stravsky asked, sounding almost bored as if the matter at hand was tiring him out. "But you still didn't answer me, Ms. Croft."

"Lets just say that I owe it to him."

She sat alone outside Kurtis' room, at times receiving a pitying glance from the passing nurses. At first it annoyed her, she had always disliked pity, but she soon grew used to it as she drowned into her thoughts once more.

The member of staff in charge of the security that day had caught a nasty flu, or at least that was what Stravsky told her after guestioning the hospital staff. Mr. Svoboda, the replacement guard, hadn't disappeared in the same manner Kurtis did – he had worked fulltime that day and even used his time-card when he had exited the building.

But no one had seen him since. Not returning his phonecalls or paging he could only be assumed either missing or deliberately disappeared person.

That is if he ever even left the hospital willingly...or was taken by force.

If he ever even left.

She spotted a weary Stravsky slowly walking toward her. He yawned a time or two before sitting next to Lara.

"After interrogating every possible staff member who could've possibly had something to do with Mr. Svoboda and double-checking every already checked room, corner and doghouse..." He paused, taking a deep breath and giving into the gravity. "There's nothing, nothing at all." He leaned forward, leaning his face into his hands.

"That's two disappeared people...is that enough to make a case for you?" She couldn't hide her annoyance longer. Proof or no proof, something needed to be done before it was too late. She couldn't tell what was happened to the missing guard but Kurtis certainly didn't wander away on his own.

He nodded, tiredly, not meeting her gaze. "The investigation is open, if that is what you wanted to hear. Still, without leads of any kind, there is only so much we can do. We have witnesses, of course, but none of them seem to connect with the events, none of them saw Mr. Trent or Mr. Svoboda leaving the building. The guard working the shift before Mr. Svoboda's witnessed him entering the building and taking over his position. Mr. Trent, on the other hand...there is no one who saw him ever leaving his room."

"There must have been someone around..."

"During those hours the hospital works on limited staff, they can't afford to pay everyone for the night shift. That automatically means there are less people to take care off things. And even the people in nightshifts have their breaks, though they shouldn't be having them at the same time...but as you know people aren't that good in following orders...when they know no one's watching."

Lara didn't even listen to most of what Stravsky told her but let herself drown in her guilt, swaying slowly. Suddenly her eyes snapped wide open and all of her movements seized.

"How would they know no one's watching?" She enquired, hastily. "And isn't it the nightshift that has been looped out of the tape? ...Then how would anyone know who worked during that shift?"

"There are lists of the shifts and the workers have their timecards. Plus -" Stravsky sighed "- the nightshifters need to wait until someone takes their positions.

She closed her eyes – no matter what way they were going they always seemed to hit a brick wall. Someone had to relieve the nightshifters, someone they knew since no one had mentioned anything about other replacement than Mr. Svoboda. And people couldn't shift shapes, except through some tremendous pain and ending up dead like Bartoli and Willard.

The only person surviving transformation she had had seen dying and to her knowledge he was the last of the nephilim. And Stravsky, as a person who had never seen or heard of such things would only concider her out of her wit.

"But now, Ms. Croft, I need to return to the station and piece together all the little that we have of this case."

She nodded, not even watching him walk away.

Shapeshifting, would it be possible? 


	9. The Thin Red Line

Disclaimer: I do not own the character from Tomb Raider games or movies and no money is made of this piece of fan fiction.

Lara had returned to her hotel room early, but to her it mattered not where she was. Her face carried no signs of relief or satisfaction. Her features, lively before, now only showed her tiredness. But she couldn't sleep, the idea seemed ridiculous to her at the moment.

She knew she needed her sleep, the bags under her eyes were enough to point that to her. But she was also aware of the weight on her chest, hurting more with each breath.

But to her surprise it wasn't the pain that kept her from falling asleep. It was the fear of waking up without it.

All of her life she had forced herself to forget, not to remember the lives she took. In the beginning of her career she had stayed up at nights, afraid of seeing the dead in her sleep. She had woken, many times during her restless slumber, sweating and panting – relieved that what she had seen stayed in the dream world, in her subconscious. And as long as she stayed awake that was where the nightmares would remain waiting for her.

But as years lingered by the nightmares vanished. She couldn't say whether it was her growing numb of death , caring less about the fact that it was she who caused it or continuously telling herself that they were bad men, they deserved what they got.

In the eyes of the law she wasn't a criminal, not even in her own eyes, not anymore. Sometimes saving all demanded sacrifices. She grimaced as the voice on the phone crawled back to the surface from her subconscious. Had she, during all the years of her raiding, let go of the bits that others referred to when spoken about humanity?

She yawned, tired of staying awake and, for the first time in years, her life.

And now, for the very first time in years, she was afraid to close her eyes – not because of remembering but because of forgetting. What if the same that happened to her guilt then would take away her pain now? What if she grew numb of something she was afraid to loose? And why was she so afraid of loosing her guilt of what happened to him? She had, in the end, been a part in writing so many destinies. She had condemned so many to death that she had lost count.

But still the world viewed her as a hero of sorts – true, she had saved the planet and humanity more than once, but to whom, from whom? After all, history was written by the victorious. What would the earth have become if Natla still lived? If Lara hadn't journeyed to Atlantis to bring her to her end would the world as she knew it stopped existing? Could she assume she had done what she did to the best of everyone?

She surely hadn't done it for fortune and glory. She didn't yearn to bathe in the sunlight, causing others to hide in shadows. She didn't want to be raised on a pedestal.

And how, even after all had happened in Prague, how she still thought it was about her.

The thought caught her off-guard. Was that it, her feeling guilty over believing it was about her? No matter how she tried to deny it or push the thought away, her mind seemed to loop around it. When had it turned around? When had everything come to be about her?

She brushed the thought out of her mind, it would lead her nowhere. The fact that the tape was on loop had to mean something else than just the proof of the nightshift existing being erased. The nurse had come, she had gone – but no one could tell where she was in between...and if she even was there.

Lara hadn't gone through the other tapes since Stravsky had promised her the police would take care of that. They hadn't started on the job before she had left and this far she had heard no news. But if the other tapes were on loop, too, it would open the possibility of the nightshift never having existed in the first place.

But how could a whole nightshift not exist? Surely someone would've noticed that, someone who was working there. Unless there was something else to the puzzle, something that couldn't be by the means of a normal human being.

She discarded her thoughts about the Nephilim doing the deed, surely not even they could smuggle someone out without anyone noticing. Perhaps something made the workers forget a minute or two of the shift, or the entire time they worked. Hypnosis? Could it be?

All of the tapes being on loop would surely support the theory as well as expanding the list of suspects to almost anyone. But she remembered reading that hypnosis wouldn't work if the person it was tested on resisted. There was no sense all the workers in the nightshift would let themselves bee hypnotised freely. It either had to happen to them all at once or otherwise someone might've sounded the alarm because of a co-worker's strange behauviour. And brainwashing all of the workers would just be too much trouble. She doubted anyone would go through all that just to get to kidnap one man.

No matter how much of her time and thoughts she sacrificed to the matter, she found herself unable to come up with any solution.

She glanced out of the window of her the tiny kitchen of her room, not surprised to find it was already dark – almost pitch black. But shouldn't the snow light the ground up, at least a bit? It was way too dark, the dull light of the streetlamps only just shining through the night. There was always something ominous about nights like this, they always carried promises of threats, something ghastly and not quite human.

It was then she heard a crash, and for a blink of an eye, shards of glass raining down. Sounding like wind chimes in a hard breeze the pieces each found their spot next to the others on the floor.

She ducked, out of sheer instinct, cowering her head with her hands thus leaving as small an area as possible open for damage. But she felt none of the shards biting into her skin.

Slowly she raised her head and glanced around, surprised to find the kitchen window intact and the floor free of shards. She stood up and rushed to her bedroom, stopping short in the doorway.

The floor was littered with glass but that wasn't what caught her attention. There, in the middle of the room, lay a crow, its legs twiching a time or two as its body tried to comprehend why its heart beat no more. Its dark eyes still glinted with the remains of its soul as the bird's lifeforce slowly seeped out of its body. Crimson liquid formed a small puddle under the black-feathered corpse and, as if trying to avoid Lara's gaze, shyly started flowing towards the nearest wall. Lara, her gaze still on the unmoving bird, failed to notice the uncommon flow of the blood.

She knew it was normal for birds to hit windows but she had never witnessed one that flew to its death with such a force that the glass was shattered, in addition to the bird's neck or spinal cord. The angle the bird's head was in told her it was its neck that had snapped, ending the crow's life before it knew what had happened.

She sighed, heading for the phone. She stepped around the largest shards carefully, even though she still wore her boots. Her hand reached for the receiver, picking it up and placing it to her ear. But she never got to press the buttons, her fingers freezing before she managed to press even the first one.

There, on the wall, was her evidence of the case being far from normal. A thin line of the bird's blood slowly made itself up the wall as if it had a will of its own. 


	10. Overheard

He had enough time to catch the startled look in her eyes before he was pulled back through the shaft he had come from. The wind passed his essence by in the dark of the night like he was nothing as he was dragged by some unknown force. His body was calling for him – he knew it. It was either too broken...or discovered.

His spirit rushed through walls and doors, following the most direct route to its corporeal form. It flew through the steams of grass but felt none of it. None of the small rocks embedded themselves into his spiritual skin, none of the dirt found its way into his eyes.

Miles flew by in fast motion as his body called out to him. Buildings he had never seen appeared on his retinas and disappeared before he could notice their color.

Flashes of light and dark, laughter and crying mixed together. And a face after another, forming a line of people Kurtis would never know, the ones he would never meet. Railways, roads and rivers passed under him in a line of images, burned into his mind. They would enter his dreams, his nightmares and he would never know their origin, would never connect them to this rushed return to his body.

He was easily pulled through a pair of heavy doors and managed to get a glance of gray stone walls before his body convulsed once, welcoming his soul back. As soon as he opened his eyes he realized he was in darkness. Shortly after his eyes registered the bottom of the bed on top of him. And he remembered where he was.

And there was footsteps.

"Have you succeeded in finding him?" Kurtis recognized the voice, he had overheard it in the conversation earlier and it belonged to the one who had been called Divinity.

_Selfish prick_, he thought bitterly, before closing his eyes trying to lessen the pain he was in.

"No sir, but he hasn't gotten out so the operation is still uncompromised." It was a new voice, laced with fright. Kurtis could almost see the man who spoke shaking from toes to the top of his head, with his hackles standing up.

"You incompetent fool!" There was a slapping sound and a small yelp. "Were you not supposed to be guarding the room?"

"I..."

"It wasn't his fault, sir." The other voice Kurtis had heard earlier interrupted the discussion. It had more force force, it was bolder and somehow carried more influence.

"You were not questioned and thus shall not speak!" The voice rose a notch, echoing with authority and leadership. The Divinity was someone who could've committed a mass murder, defended himself in the court and walked out as a free man.

"But sir!" The man protested, attempting to save his younger colleague from grave danger.

"Is there something you would like me to be aware of?" The tone of the voice made Kurtis thank himself being in the relative safety under the bed but he knew it wouldn't last.

"I...covered up for him while he visited the restroom, sir." The Lux Veritatis warrior could almost imagine the speaker pointing someone hiding in the shadows, wishing the darkness would hide him from the wrath that he knew was to be descended upon him.

Kurtis cringed at the fear evindent in the voice and forced his eyes open. He was sure the owner wouldn't see tomorrow. There was a heavy pause, threat floating in the air, and then a ripping sound, like a knife cutting something into soft and wet. Another moment of silence and then a thud when something came in contact with the floor.

"I appreciate your apology." There was nothing grateful to be heard in the voice, or nothing humane. It was colder than freezing water. "Your family will be notified about your passing."

The Lux Veritatis warrior could hear incoherent mumbling and then an order to keep on looking. He closed his eyes again, knowing he couldn't escape the darkness looming around. Like a train it would catch the one lying on the tracks. The footsteps followed the corridor, echoing dully against the cold floor. There were no sounds of dragging, just a dreadful silence that he and the corpse in the corridor shared.

He lost the count of minutes, probably hours, that passed in the almost utter silence apart from the random whistles and shouting that took place. The corpse remained, having gained the second position on the importance of matters at hand. Finding the missing hostage must've been the first.

He grew accustomed to the pain quickly, having been in the presence of it for such a long time period. A slight burning in the back of his mind still reminded Kurtis of the wound he had suffered in the battle with Boaz, the monstrosity created by madman's mind. He was starting to be cold, the stone floor not being merciful to lie on. And the darkness, present no matter what he did, freezed him to the bone.

And then there was light, the lamp of the room burning so brightly that it hurt his eyes. He blinked once, the secong time his eyelids remained closed – he never felt the hands grabbing his arm and yanking him away from under the bed.


	11. Tic Toc

First of all, I need to apologise for the time it has taken me to write this update.

Second - Disclaimer: None of the characters from Tomb Raider games or movies belong to me, no money is being made.

She didn't care about the early hour as she rushed through the doors of the police station as if the devil itself was on her heels. Her sudden appearance startled the closest officer, who fumbled with his cup of morning coffee, lost the fight and helplessly watched as the porcelain proved to be weaker than the floor. Lara didn't react to the sound, her mind settled on something she thought far more important.

She had raced out of her room as soon as the blood had remembered being only liquid and leaving a crimson line on the wall as gravity pulled it toward the floor. Her camera was still buried under the debris and stones, which would've ended her life as well had it not been for the shaman, Putai.

After Egypt she had returned to Croft Manor only to find herself thought dead. Her visit, as gladdening as it had been for Winston, and relieving for her parents, had remained short.

Sometimes she thought she shouldn't have answered the phone. Or should've hung up when she understood who it was.

But she had yearned for some answers and her former mentor was handing her a chance on a silver platter. And there was no way she would've missed it.

She had come to regret her decision as soon as she had woken on the floor of Von Croy's apartment – but it had been too late. Her answers were gone as permanently as her former mentor's heartbeat. And she knew his departing from this world had been nowhere near pleasant.

But she had found a lead which she followed all the way to the black alchemist, Eckhardt, the Sleeper he wanted to bring back to life and Lux Veritatis, the fighters of the light opposing the darkness that would've befallen on the earth had the alchemist succeeded in his attempt.

Eckhardt, though, had been a mere puppet, a marionette of a darker and older power – one of the nephilim – Karel.

She had had her revenge, but never the answers she came for, only new questions.

And now the last person who could help her had vanished. But she was sure he had been there, in her room, last night. And perhaps the same force that had made his chirugai fly had controlled the flow of the blood.

"Miss...can I help you, miss?"

The question was repeated before she had a chance to answer it. As she snapped out of her trance her eyes locked with the same officer who had lost his morning coffee. But on his face recided a strange mixture of worry and annoyment. And her reason of being there in such an early hour came back to her, the momentarily lost look abandoning her eyes. On that same blink of an eye she abandoned her manners, this was no place for small talk.

"Stravsky?" Her tone was demanding and took the officer completely by surprise. The young man, who had already tragically lost his coffee, could only stare at her hard brown eyes. Suddenly he didn't feel like going on the date that evening.

Deciding that there was no answer to be gotten out of him, she strode past his desk, leaving the utterly amazed young man staring at her.

Stravsky's office door was still closed but through the blinds Lara could see the man sitting by his desk. Not minding her manners she strode straight in, leaving knocking for the days she actually had time to bother with appearances.

Stravsky jumped slightly but covered his slight shock with a sip of coffee and a half-hearted glance at her direction. But he didn't have time to collect himself entirely as she slammed a brown envelope on the table. Stravsky's gaze met Lara's, being taken aback by the look in her eyes.

There'd be no questions this time. The players had changed places.

"What do you wa..." The officer's words died in his throat as she emptied the contents of the envelope on the table. The pictures were blurry, but he could still make out the images clearly. It was a hotel room even though something was terribly out of place. Something that wasn't supposed to be there. His eyes sought out hers.

Her figure slumped down into the chair across from his and a slight shook from her told him everything he needed to know. She was as shocked as he, maybe even more so.

And for a moment she hoped, more than anything, that she wouldn't have answered Werner's phone call. That she wouldn't have reacted to it. She wouldn't be sitting here had that taken place. But the world might be burning, the fallen angels walking on it once more and spreading across the continents. She had been there to stop that. And that had to mean something, if not to her, if not to Kurtis, then to someone else. Perhaps to someone like Stravsky or the young officer who had been left without coffee. Or then just a passer-by.

...and perhaps...perhaps Von Croy had been left without a choice. Force, she had known it to be used before. Surely what had started out as interest had soon been switched to sheer horror. Perhaps that even was the reason he contacted her.

To get out himself. A sudden feeling of disgust overtook her. Had she been just a tool to him? Like all those years ago in Angkor Wat? Had he just put them both in danger again, his eyes on the prize that would be his if all the pieces of the puzzle fell down correctly. If nothing turned to be out of place.

Another faulty plan. He hadn't count all the options. But this time it had been out of fear instead of greed.

Stravsky went through the pictures, slowly, letting his gaze linger on each one long enough to take in the details. His touch was gentle, she noticed. He handled the photographs as pieces of evidence but she couldn't say why. Had he just assumed? He laid down the last picture and took an eyeful of her. She still didn't care for the look in his eyes – like she was an intruder in his territory, something that wasn't a part of the plan.

"What...exactly am I looking at here, Ms. Croft?" His voice was calm and didn't betray his innermost feelings.

It took all her self-discipline not to stand up and hasten up his demise. Instead, she glared at him.

"I don't know what you see in them. And I don't care if it'd be the tomb of Tutankhamen himself. But what I see is the reason I didn't sleep last night and had to run around in a vain search of a disposable camera in the middle of the night!" To stress her words she rose slightly and pressed her forefinger on the pile of pictures.

"No need to get heated up, Ms. Croft. It was a totally reasonable question." He lifted her hand enough to put the photographs back in the envelope.

"Reason has nothing to do with this." She said, while staring at him, her eyes blazing - with what, he couldn't tell. Her voice was barely audible but he managed to catch it.

She could see the doubt on his face – was she just another mental case to him? Someone who made up things that hadn't been and never taken place? Or did he perhaps see her as an old lady who swore she had seen an elephant on her backyard? She hated having to bother with someone who needed to see to believe.

She hated people who were so lost in the ordinary that anything different from it was entirely denied. Laws of physics and such were there to keep those people safe, to help them deny what was happening in front of their faces.

"I hope you aren't going to tell me next that a leprechaun decided on hav..."

"Look!" This time she stood up quickly. The metallic clank shot through the room as the chair met the floor but neither pair of ears present registered the sound. "I couldn't care less if you had to come up with a new law of physics that would allow you to believe what took place in my hotel room last night. But I swear that neither me or the bird had nothing do with the letters!"

"I see." There was a short silence. "But I do take it that you understand my bewilderment about the matter at hand." Lara nodded. "And I doubt that even you, Lady Croft, could come up with an argument that would ensure our whole department that lifeless liquid crept up your hotel room wall..."

"Did you skip school a lot while you were young?"

He was taken aback – it was a bolt out of the blue. A question that had nothing to do with what the discussion was about. "Meaning?"

"Blood is all but lifeless."

He slumped back in his chair and found a pen to tap the table with. "That depends on one's definition of life but I doubt that even yours would cause what we see here on paper."

He took the last photograph out of the envelope, giving it one last glance before snapping his gaze quickly to Lara.

"What is it?" She read his expression before he could voice his thoughts.

"The clock...at the reception. It just stopped. No one, not even the repairman could figure out what was the matter. The battery wasn't dead, the fingers weren't dented..."

"Where are you getting with this?"

He showed the photograph to the woman sitting across from him. "Place and time – it's all there.. Whatever wrote this knew...or was there on the exact time..."

"...when the clock stopped." She finished his sentence.


	12. Bracelets

Disclaimer: None of the characters that have appeared in either Tomb Raider games or movies are my property. No money is being made out of this fiction.

Surprise! I didn't even think myself that I'd someday update this. My lack of interest in writing fanfiction is growing and I really don't know if this one is ever going to be finished. I am truly sorry for all the spelling or grammatic errors there might be, I still don't have a proofread program and English isn't my mother tongue.

Bracelets

The candles remained, no matter how he blinked his eyes. The hours had already blurred, minutes mixep up with seconds – time meant nothing to him. Not here. The walls of the chamber were gray, but unlike the smooth surfaces in subway tunnels, these walls still looked like just-cut rock without any further attempts of attractiveness. No paint was spared to the chamber he was lying in, no decorations, nothing.

'Limited budget, it seems', he thought bitterly as he once again tried to remove his hands from their binds. The enemy had brain after all, instead of straps he was now locked down with metallic bracelets. And gagged as if his captors believed his strength to be in whispered words or something alike.

He let his gaze wonder through the chamber, not noticing anything he hadn't already seen before. Still, it was different to the one he had been held in earlier. Added security for someone who didn't have mental powers and relied entirely on their body.

And Kurtis wondered for a second if these 'baddies' followed the rule 'live by the sword and die by the sword' – or preferrably, at least in this case, gun.

If this was the case it would be easier to free himself than he had thought possible but did he have the strength to escape? How long had he been unconscious anyway? The absence of calendars and clocks in this place made knowing the time increasingly difficult, as well as the fact that no daylight or moonshine made it into the windowless chamber – plus, the whole place was underground. No heat emanated from the walls and the only light was provided by the two candles, places on both sides of the door leading out.

But he didn't need candles to see. Had he wanted he could've charted the whole place – but time, or the lack of it, was against him.

And there was a presence in the room, something he had felt for a while. Not a physical one, but he knew, not really sure how, that someone was there in spirit. And that feeling, that single sensation, had kept him from acting, from using his powers. He hadn't wanted to show them what he could do with his mind. No, he hadn't wanted to give them a chance to block out his mental abilities, his only way of escaping.

If Lara had only understood the message. If she could find him fast enough. If she could follow the trail.

He didn't doubt she could. Throughout the Prague incident, even in Paris, she had proven herself worthy of more than being just a pretty thing to be gawked at.

He remembered the first time he had seen her, the way she had walked into that Parisian café – straight to the counter, expecting answers and nothing less. He had glanced at her from the corner of his eye, knowing she hadn't noticed, taking in her appearance. Her body structure told of earlier adventrures and the hard glint in her eyes of dangers faced before. She headed straightforward into trouble, knew it and didn't care. Something had driven her, unanswered questions and, as he later learned, the murder of one of the most ifluential people in her life – her tutor, Von Croy.

It had been her determination that made an impact on him at first. He had seen pretty girls before, dated a few even. But there was only so many things one could do with intellectually challenged people, be they men or women. And eventually it started feeling empty, meaningless, to have someone great-looking, with whom you couldn't discuss, by your side. Easy cases, not worth the trouble, no challenge at all. With her first glance at Pierre, Lara had challenged Kurtis. It had lead to a game, at first, with him being in the lead. But somewhere in between everything changed and beating her wasn't his main priority anymore.

After all, they had been after the same man. The very one who had ripped someone important out of their life. Her tutor and his father had crossed the border to the great unknown because of the same man. But that man had been brought to justice – he knew it, somehow. Even though he hadn't been there himself, he knew. Willingly, he had given up his revenge, allowing her to have hers. Allowing her to have his trust, something that wasn't easily gained

Not even his father had had it, not completely. Perhaps he hadn't even trusted himself, not at first, not before the Legion, not before his father's death. Not before he was forced to. Not until he had to.

As long as he had had a choice, he chose doubting. The easier way.

And here was the result. Not of his trust in her, but in himself. Shackled down like a slave or a piece in exhibition – like Mona Lisa, forced to have that wretched smile of hers on her face forever. Or until the world forgot or the painting turned into dust. When the humanity lost the bit of a soul it still possessed and became ignorant, when art could no longer touch or stir anyone's feelings – when colours were only colours, paper mere paper and expressions held no mystery anymore.

The countdown had already began, the doomsday approaching – for both humanity and art.

He forced his thoughts back to the moment at hand, returning into the small chamber and the presence of the person he could feel but not see.

Turning his head, he tried, once more, to make out any shapes in the room but he could only just and just make out the far wall. If his eyes were telling the truth there was no one standing next to him. And if he was a mere mortal he would've taken this as a fact. But he knew that everything one saw wasn't true. Something in front of you might've as well been on the other side of the globe. It could be swamp gas, magnetic fields or many multiple other reasons. The explanations were many and almost every 'professor' came up with a new one.

But in the end, it all came back to belief. Was it true what your eyes were telling? If you couldn't believe in them, what about your other senses? Was hot hot anymore? Was it really pain you felt or something else entirely?

Was smile a smile? A touch a touch? Or was it all in your head?

He forced his mind back on track, closing his eyes to keep the dark in and the presence out. It couldn't follow him into his mind.

Mental privacy was one of the few things he had ever appreciated in being Lux Veritatis. To an average Joe mindreading was something to take place in sci-fi novels and comics only, but to him it was something to be avoided almost every day. There were many who didn't know of their powers but were still able to see into someone's thoughts if they wished to. Most of the time their only reaction was 'oh, that's a silly thought. How did I come to think that?' and nothing more. But there were few who understood that they had intruded someone else's mind, trespassed on a very private property. The bad thing was, there were no signs in mind to stop them from entering, no warnings. The mind was a space one could roam freely in, touch everything they liked and leave their fingerprints on if they so wanted. Where a normal person couldn't stop such an invasion, a Lux Veritatis had ways of avoiding it.

He had mastered the skill early on in his training and it had been off use a few times too many. Kurtis wasn't fond of using his abilities, they had always excluded him from having a normal life. And there was a time he would've done almost anything to get rid of his heritage, his powers and his bloodline. But forgetting wouldn't work, he didn't have an extra section in brain that almost everyone else lacked.

It didn't work like his personality – a hit to a certain area in the head wouldn't erase it, or change it. It wasn't like his memory, which could, having the right means, be twisted at will. Nor was it connected to his soul, his knowledge of right and wrong or any of the sections, that controlled the bodily functions, in his brain. It was inherited, not just passed on to the next worthy candidate, but it wasn't in genes. It couldn't be tested on any electronic equipment, it had to be found out or known. And it had to be trained like any other skill. You didn't just wake up one morning and understand you use your mind in a whole different manner than other people.

You were born to it.

And if your parents knew about it, they either trained you or left you ignorant of the skill. The chances were, however, that someone from the order would come and inform you, taken that your skill was strong enough to put you in mortal danger, and manageable enough to be put into use.

And that was it – he was put into use by his father, not because he had wanted to but because the order was dying out. Hunted, like bears in a city, but not because they were a danger to the inhabitants. It was because they posed a threat to something that lurked in the city, something ancient and horrifying. Something most people weren't aware of. And it was this something that the Lux Veritatis opposed.

It was this he opposed. Not because he wanted to, he didn't have a choice in the matter. It was something he was born to do. From the very moment he had emerged from his mother's womb, his destiny had been written out for him. And he had even less chance of escaping his fate than someone surviving from a plane crash.

If he had the choice, he would've picked out any other option than this one. He wasn't a coward, but he didn't want to sacrifice himself for something that couldn't care less.

When Lara came along it all changed. It wasn't like he had suddenly found a meaning to his life, he hadn't. She had accepted her fate with such courage and determination that he had found himself ashamed. He was going to have his revenge, from the beginning, from before he ever met her. But somewhere in between, examining her, he had found the right reasons. Because it was the right thing to do. Because there was no one else to do it. Because humanity would never be able to save itself.

He would just be delaying the doom. But it would give the people he cared about a chance at life.

And perhaps, in future, he would get his chance as well.


	13. Hands of Time

Authors note: I am dreadfully sorry for this horrible delay. It's been over a year when I last really felt like writing and after that it's become a chore. Now that I've finished my degree, I hope that I get some of my want to write back.

--

The clock was still mounted on the wall. Whatever the reason was, for Lara it was the first piece of good news for a long time. The fingers still stood still, showing the time in the last photograph.

"Excuse me!" exclaimed the closest receptionist, more startled than offended, as Stravsky stepped to her side of the table.

The officer, not minding the receptionist, stopped just below the clock.

"Miss…Mihulka." Lara apparently wasn't the only woman Stravsky spoke slightly down to. "Why is this clock still here?"

"Why wouldn't it be?" The receptionist took no notice of the officer's tone and replied eagerly.

"The hands do not move. What is the reason for it being here?"

"Ah. It is there just for the time being. You see, officer, there is this terrible, lighter spot underneath the thing and everyone thought it would be nicer to keep the clock there before a new one was acquired." She would have probably gone on explaining if Stravsky hadn't stopped her with a few quick nods.

_"Acquired? How hard can it be to purchase a working clock?"_Lara made a mental note about not going near any working hospital machinery – it might be years until they got another one.

"The hands truly stopped the night Mr. Trent disappeared? And nothing can be done to make them walk again?" From Stravsky's tone Lara understood that he already knew the answer to both of his questions. He was only making sure it was the absolute truth.

The receptionist nodded twice, while playing with her hair, obviously not bothered that she was offered this short break from her work.

"Mind if we take a look at it?" Lara voiced before Stravsky could device the next question. He grunted, not pleased that she had disregarded his authority.

A nod was the only reply they received.

It took a few minutes until the janitor appeared with a ladder and lifted the clock off the wall. Stravsky hardly noticed the man and the receptionist shook her head almost sadly – apparently she had wished for the chat to last longer and prove to be en extra coffee break. Lara sighed – if she managed to find one person, just one person, who was perfectly happy with their job, she could die a happy woman.

She and Stravsky retreated into a small waiting area and sat down. He panted heavily, as if he had just run a marathon. Lara assumed it had something to do with not sleeping, at least if the bags under his eyes were to be trusted.

"Now that we have the clock…" He said more to himself than her, turning the said device in his hands like looking for the small print. Frustrated, he placed the clock on the small table and sat down, his arms on his thighs, with an obvious air of discomfort. He didn't have the slightest idea what she was on about.

Lara carefully picked up the clock. Sure, it looked like a normal device for measuring time but she knew there had to be something different about it. She turned it around carefully, trusting in finding something Stravsky had overlooked – it had happened once, it was likely to happen again.

"Do you know what they say about watches?" Her voice broke the silence that had developed between them. Stravsky didn't react or wasn't listening. "That when a person dies the watch they're wearing stops at the exact moment…"

She wished to see some interest in him but there was none.

"Yes, yes…" He only nodded, gesturing lazily wish his hands.

Sighing loudly, she continued. "It is said that when the soul leaves the body, the sheer energy or pulse it creates is enough to freeze the hands of time." She knew where she was going to end up with her reasoning and a man as stubborn as Stravsky wouldn't believe it. What if Kurtis' spirit had left his body, when he was taken, and the pulse it created had been so strong that it stopped the clock on the wall? She couldn't find anything wrong with the clock itself so it was entirely possible that the device didn't even hold a clue in itself. She looked up from the clock quickly, finding Stravsky staring at her.

"Would it be possible to find out if anything else malfunctioned in the hospital that night?"

"Anything is possible, I assume." His voice spoke volumes – not too interested in the task she was about to present to him with, he tried to make her change her mind. "Can't see what it would help, really."

She knew it would be a waste of time explaining to him. Well, a few years earlier she probably wouldn't have believed it herself either. The thought brought a cold smile on her lips – Stravsky's expressions changing from wariness to utter disbelief as he story progressed. He would probably think her insane when she started explaining about Kurtis' ability to make his spirit leave his body. Or absolutely latest when she got to the part that his spirit deliberately flew through hospital equipment, causing malfunctions, to make it possible for someone to follow the trail.

Any lie was better than that, probably more believable also.

"There is nothing wrong with the clock as far as I can see. Now, what I'm going to tell you requires the removal of your rose-tinted glasses as well as your willingness to accept the existence of paranormal."

For a moment Lara believed Stravsky's eyes were going to bulge out from his head. There was a lingering, shocked expression that stayed on his face for a few seconds too long to not be noticed. The thought seemed to settle in and he took a breath to steady himself.

"I assume this falls in the same category with the bird, then?"

Lara chuckled sarcastically. "No. The difference is as great as finding a clay pot from an archaeological dig and discovering the remains of an Egyptian pharaoh. The blood…is little compared to this."

He stared at her, blinking rapidly.

"I take it you're not a religious man, Mr.Stravsky? Do you know what the Nephilim are?"

He shook his head as an answer to both of her questions, earning a sigh from her.

"Have you ever read anything from the Bible?"

It was his time to laugh; even though it sounded hollow; heartless. "It is not a book I am terribly fond of. Let's just say that I never found it possible to summon the interest to do anything but to leaf it through, catch a few sentences here and there. All the sacrificing, incest and polygamy…I am certain there's bestiality somewhere there as well, if one bothers to look."

"So you are not familiar with the mythology of Christianity. The Nephilim are, as you would probably call them, cross-breeds between angels and humans. Usually they're described as malicious beings…which is the truth, at least to my experience."

"Your…experience?"

She nodded, quickly glancing around, making sure they weren't overheard.

"You claim to have actually met creatures such as these…Nephilim?" He asked, leaning forward in his seat. Not waiting for her response, he continued. "And is this the…Egyptian pharaoh?"

"No, this is, at most, a mammal fossil."

Stravsky leaned even more forward, his eyes speaking the volumes his body language didn't manage to utter. If there was interest, or belief, it was overshadowed by doubt. Lara sighed – why could it never be easy? Why could she never meet people who believed there was something malicious in the dark? That the feeling of being followed, while walking back home in the dark, wasn't just a feeling. That maybe something in the darkness wished them harm. That the shadows they thought they saw weren't just figments of their imagination. And the breath they felt down their neck wasn't always the breeze.

"Well, fire away. I doubt it can be worse than those cross-breeds."

"A force, malicious or benevolent, needs a counter-force. In this case, Lux Veritatis…"

"The Light of Truth?"

"Ah, I take it you've taken classes in Latin, then?"

"It was my pet peeve in high school. At least it's finally paying off. What of it?"

"The Lux Veritatis was a secret organization that fought against the Nephilim. The members possessed mental powers…"

"Like bending a spoon?" The slight smirk tugging at the side of Stravsky's mouth told he was not taking the conversation seriously."

"It would've been a child's play to them. And Kurtis…Mr.Trent…"

"Let me guess, he's the last of his kind?" She knew she must've looked taken aback for a moment since Stravsky's smirk only grew. "Oh, please, Ms.Croft. You aren't trying to tell me that he sent some sort of a mental blast at the clock, are you?"

Lara slowly rose from her seat and leaned toward Stravsky. Grimness replaced the earlier look of calm in her eyes and her gaze was enough to turn the smirk on Stravsky's face into a troubled half-smile. His eyes seemed to bore deeper into his skull every passing second, searching for a non-existent retreat from her annoyance.

"Are those rose-tinted glasses melted to your forehead or do you honestly claim that you have not, even once during your career, come across something unexplainable?! I care not how small a thing it might be, a shadow in the corner of your eye, a missing bullet or an undetermened cause of death! I doubt that in your case it is about the lack of evidence but the will to believe in it." He was about to speak but she silenced with a stern look. "I know you would not believe me if I told you what all I have seen but let me tell you this - there is a veil that most of us do not see through. I count them lucky for they do not know what creatures lie in wait in the dark. It is the knowledge that pains and the fact you cannot share it!" Before he managed to get a word out of his mouth she had slumped back into her seat. Her eyes, still staring at him, held what to Stravsky seemed stubborness but to many others would've been belief.

"Ms. Croft..." He started, raising his hand sloppily to stop her from speaking. "I do understand that all of this is shocking but you must understand...how you sound."

"Hwo I sound?" She motioned hastily to the clock. "You have seen the clock, you saw the blood and the bird! You are just too afraid to let go of your precious reality to see the bigger picture here. It exists and no matter what you do can change that! You can close your eyes but it will still be dark. I only ask that you look upon iy and see what is there before it catches a sight of you!" She stood up before his protests fell from his lips, snatched the clock and stormed out.

He remained seated, eyes locked on the empty spot the clock had been. On his brow a small frown appeared as his mind tried to navigate the maze of her words.


End file.
